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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Rupert Brooke

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Rupert Brooke
Age: 28 †
Born: 1887
Born: January 1
Died: 1915
Died: January 1
Poet
Rugby
Warwickshire
Rupert Chawner Brooke
Rupert Chaucer Brooke
English
Hearts
Heaven
Peace
Heart

More quotes by Rupert Brooke

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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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If I should die, think only this of me: that there's some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England.
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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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In your arms was still delight, Quiet as a street at night And thoughts of you, I do remember, Were green leaves in a darkened chamber, Were dark clouds in a moonless sky.
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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
Rupert Brooke
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Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour, And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping, With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power, To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping.
Rupert Brooke
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The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble and the rough male kiss of blankets.
Rupert Brooke
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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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War knows no power. Safe shall be my going, Secretly armed against all death's endeavour Safe though all safety's lost safe where men fall And if these poor limbs die, safest of all.
Rupert Brooke
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The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
Rupert Brooke
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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
Rupert Brooke
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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
Rupert Brooke
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Store up reservoirs of calm and content and draw on them at later moments when the source isn't there, but the need is very great.
Rupert Brooke
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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
Rupert Brooke
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Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.
Rupert Brooke
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Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
Rupert Brooke
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These laid the world away poured out the red Sweet wine of youth gave up the years to be Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene, That men call age and those who would have been, Their sons, they gave, their immortality.
Rupert Brooke